


Take a hint

by badreputation



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Atsumu is done with all this pining despite him being a pining mess too, Fluff, Food equals life equation, Idiots in Love, M/M, Miscommunication, Oblivious Suna, Pining, Sick Fic, Suna for an intelligent person you're a dunce istg, a pinch or three of angst, so much pining, sorry for the profanity but lbr they curse like sailors behind the scenes, watch all of Osamu's courting tactics fail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 17:55:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21257282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badreputation/pseuds/badreputation
Summary: The one where Suna is oblivous to Neanderthal courting habits.





	Take a hint

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've been stuck in Sunaosa hell for about a month now and this happened today. Sorry for any typos and hope you enjoy!

The first time is happens, Rintarou is sure it's because he looks like shit due to him getting little sleep. He's paler than usual and the moment he steps into the classroom a few of the girls flinch away from him before making a half circle around him. Their faces are pinched with genuine worry.

Yumi, the girl that sits in front of him, leans in too close for comfort. He likes her, she’s a good friend that’s on the girls’ volleyball team and once even covered for him when a flock of girls from class 3 wanted to know Rintarou’s number. But she’s as stubborn as his own mother.

"You should go to the nurse, Suna-kun." Yumi declares, appears as if she's barely restraining herself from lifting a hand to touch his forehead.

Rintarou is just about to excuse himself and walk away when somebody appears behind him.

"Suna?"

It's Osamu.

Rintarou chances a glance over his shoulder. The girls scatter away, all except for Yumi.

She crosses her arms, steps in front of Rintarou to block his path right before he's about to bolt. "Miya-kun, can you take him to the nurse? He looks like hell warmed over."

Despite the fact that Osamu's face is lax, his eyebrows pinch together a tiny bit. He pulls Rintarou back by the shoulder, takes off his backpack and hands it over to Yumi who just grins at Rintarou's pained face.

"I hate you."

She gives him a peace sign. "No you don't."

And Osamu turns him in the direction of the nurse's office. He hasn't even left his own school bag. Rintarou tries to not think about the warm hand that migrates from his shoulder to his lower back and stays there throughout the entire walk.

"Why did you even come to school when you're a zombie imitation? Kita-san's gonna rip you a new one."

"Meh. I just didn't sleep enough, mother. And a sore throat never killed anybody."

There's already a pair of girls with the nurse so she tells them to sit on the other side of the spacious room, on the bed that has white blinds around it.

Right until the very last moment, Osamu keeps his palm on him and Rintarou hates to admit, but he craves its heat when it moves away.

Osamu sits next to him, places his bag to his left, surprisingly not between them. He takes out a plastic container, followed by a fork that's enveloped in a napkin. Both the utensil and the container he gives to Rintarou.

"Uh."

"You need energy." is all Osamu says and maybe it's Rintarou's imagination but his eyelids are less droopy than usual, which in turn makes Rintarou's stomach swoop because now his eyes are way bigger, easier to submerge himself into.

He immediately lowers his gaze.

Shit.

"You're willingly giving me your food?"

Osamu shrugs. "You need it."

Rintarou is left speechless. He's so unsure of how he should react that he opens the container instead, to keep the pretence that he’s as unbothered as usual. There's a very hearty piece of strawberry short cake inside, along with five strawberries on top. There’s no doubt in Rintarou’s mind that Atsumu has no strawberries on top of his piece of cake.

He catches Osamu's eyes despite his own discomfort. "Are you sure? I'm not even hungry."

Osamu pinches his mouth, blinks slowly and adopts one of the variations of his 'bitch, please' expressions.

Rintarou removes the napkin from the fork and takes a bite, careful to only scrape his teeth over it. He knows some people are germaphobes and even if he's almost completely sure Osamu isn't one, he prefers to be cautious. He's a carbon copy of Atsumu after all, if with a milder character. They’re both ticking bombs of unpredictable actions.

Still, the whole piece is going to be too much for him to stomach. As if he's read Rintarou's mind, Osamu mutters,

"Eat as much as you can."

The nurse chooses that time to pull the blinds. At first, she's ready to yell but a mere moment before that her eyes land on Rintarou and she sighs.

"We’re very sorry for the trouble. He came to school with a sore throat while looking like a corpse and I think his temperature’s a bit high. I thought some sugar might help him." Osamu tells her, as if all this is a normal occasion and he’s had loads of time to get used to being Rintarou’s secretary.

The nurse then makes Rintarou stay still in order to get his blood pressure.

She’s maybe 40 years old, a surprisingly tall woman, with a stern attitude but very kind and gentle hands, a complete contrast to how she carries herself.

Her previously calm attitude takes a wild turn. “Do you have any idea how low your blood pressure is?” for a moment, Rintarou is certain she’ll pull his ear.

She ignores his flinch and hurries to take his temperature. Osamu does this thing where he pouts with his entire body but not with his face. If Rintarou didn’t know better, he would think that he’s pissed because Rintarou isn’t eating his food. But he does know better and in Osamu’s mind there is one equation that rules over any other.

Food > sleep, rest, studying, school → Food = life

Which means that he can’t be anything but happy that Rintarou didn’t eat the entire piece of cake he prepared for himself. So why is he so sour?

“And you?” the nurse directs her question towards Osamu. “Why are you still here? He won’t vanish.”

She clicks her tongue, “Good gods, 38.5°C. Young man, how you’ve even gotten to school is beyond me! You should take better care for yourself. If your friend hadn’t dragged you over here not only would there have been a possibility for you to faint in class, but also start an epidemic!”

Rintarou leans back a little, shoots a glare at Osamu.

“Listen very carefully. I’m going to give you an aspirin. In four hours you’ll take a Paracetamol. Four hours after that, you’ll take another aspirin and you continue switching them throughout the day. It will help with the temperature and it will fight off the cold.” Rintarou nods, he’s familiar with the script, seeing as it’s his mother’s go-to cure for common cold. “If, by chance, that doesn’t help and your condition hasn’t gotten better, then immediately go see a doctor. And drink a lot of tea and beef stock. Am I clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.” they chorus simultaneously.

As she gives Rintarou the aspirin, she writes down their names and class. “Miya-kun, I want you to see him off to the gate.”

“Understood.”

Another student knocks on the door and the nurse’s attention is immediately elsewhere. She leaves them after another huff.

Despite having eaten, Rintarou’s energy plummets rather sharply and all of a sudden he doesn’t even have the strength to argue with anybody. At the narrow-eyed look his teammate gives him, he continues the now painful journey of eating the cake. He barely manages getting halfway before shaking his head.

“Oh.” Osamu blinks. “You don’t like it?”

“It’s nice. But my stomach can't fit more.”

Rintarou leans his elbows on his knees when Osamu takes back the half-full container. He doesn’t feel like he’s going to hurl, not exactly, it’s just uncomfortable. He hasn’t felt this weak in a long time.

Afterwards, his memories are a little sparse. He knows he went back home somehow. The following day he’s still under the weather, but definitely better than the previous one. He wonders if Osamu had the forethought to not eat from the same fork and maybe give up the infected food. 

The answer comes to him on Thursday when Yumi tells him Osamu’s also sick.

That fucking idiot.

*****

Since that incident, Osamu continues to share his food with Rintarou, even if it doesn't happen every day. It also starts making complications in their dynamic because the moment Rintarou refuses said offering, because he doesn’t really have the same ginormous and outright alien appetite, Osamu sulks.

He would have never thought he’ll ever see the day Osamu sulks like a kindergartner but lo and behold. True, if he was a child there would be more tantrums. He sulks in his own way - avoids speaking directly with Rintarou, doesn’t look at him, is overall spaced out. It earns him not so few volleyballs to the head from his loving twin brother.

“The fuck’s wrong with you, ‘Samu? Feh!”

Osamu continues tying his shoelaces at a snail’s pace, pays his brother no attention. Atsumu’s razor eyes snap towards Rintarou. He stares for such a long time that Rintarou raises an unbothered brow. Atsumu shakes his head, heads out of the locker room while muttering something under his breath that no doubt holds more profanity.

“How long are you going to act like a toddler?”

Osamu halts, still hunched over his shoes.

“You do realize that not everybody can eat as much as you do, right?”

This makes him peek up at Rintarou through his lashes.

_ Gotcha. _

“That’s what all this is about?” Rintarou waves his hand between them in a broad swipe. “I’m not gonna eat when I’m not hungry because I feel sick afterwards.”

The confused frown is confirmation enough. He’s dead tired of twins that have no concept of the way actual humans interact. They’re like literal feral foxes. Absolutely no perception abilities outside of volleyball and food.

Rintarou kicks Osamu’s foot with no malice. “I’m not like you or Atsumu. Y’all shove food down your throats roughly every two hours, if not less.”

Now Osamu’s frown deepens. “But I didn’t give it to you with the intention of you eating it immediately.”

See, five hours ago, before the start of their first class, Osamu shoved a box of _ Meiji’s _strawberry Chocorooms into Rintarou’s face out of the blue. No words, no nothing. He just waited for Rintarou to take them and sat back on his desk. The sulking started when Rintarou went to give them back - he’d eaten breakfast at home, he was still full at the time.

Okay. Fine. Maybe Rintarou could have thought it through further before giving back what was a, uh, gift? The fuck?

Rintarou kicks him in the shin, this time not even an ounce of gentle. “Do you have vocal strings?”

“Huh?”

“I said, do you have vocal strings?”

Osamu tilts his head to one side like a contemplating puppy. “Yea?”

“Then why aren’t you using them? If you want to say something - say it.”

Rintarou stands there, acting in a way he rarely lets himself exhibit precisely due to the fact that when he _ does _ blow up, it goes out of proportion fast.

Osamu’s torso holds the tension as it accumulates, his breathing accelerates a smidge. His expression is one Rintarou hasn’t seen on him - it pulls his facial muscles into a shape that doesn’t exactly convey desperation, but something close to it. A brittle thing that reflects in his brown eyes.

But with a clench to his jaw, Osamu gets up with his head hanging low.

“Sorry.” he shoots out as he bypasses Rintarou without even letting their shoulders touch.

There’s no hitch during practise. He still tosses to Rintarou when they’re on the same team. He still talks about tactics. His head is in the game. But he doesn’t give Rintarou high-fives, nor does he say ‘nice serve!’ or ‘nice block!’. It’s radio silence.

It continues for almost a whole week until Atsumu steps in by starting a screaming match. It’s as sudden as lightning in a clear blue sky. They’re on the floor before anybody knows what's going on, Osamu lands two hard punches, then Atsumu knees him in the abdomen and shoves him to the side. Kita-san’s head snaps towards the fight, the serene aura morphing into a black cloud around him. Then Osamu lets out an outraged howl, manages to overpower his twin yet again and pins him by sitting on his torso. His arm pulls back as his other hand is fisted in Atsumu’s shirt, and Rintarou knows this is going to be a harder blow than the first ones that weren’t mild to begin with.

This isn’t one of the normal fights that happen maybe twice a month. There’s no restraint here, no mercy, only vicious instinct. If they were indeed animals, Rintarou’s sure they’d be aiming their teeth for the throat or at the very least snap them in that direction.

“_ The fuck _are you doing?”

Rintarou’s yell echoes around the gym. This is most likely the first time he’s raised his voice around either of his teammates for all the two years in this club. Each pair of eyes is on him, including Kita-san’s and coach’s.

He walks over to the twins, Kita-san does the same from the other side of the court. Osamu’s already lowered his hand and let go of his brother, gaze aimed at the floor. He gets up by himself mere moments before Kita-san stops near them.

Osamu bows his head yet again. “I’m sorry for ruining the practice.”

Before Kita-san or Atsumu can say anything, coach’s loud steps alert them a second before he cuffs Osamu over the back of his head. “Clean your hands. Rintarou, go with him. We’ll speak about this later.” and he points in direction of the exit.

Rintarou nods, follows after Osamu whose gait is getting closer to a jog than actual walking. Rintarou slams the locker room door after they’re both inside, the harsh sound a testament of the current mood in the air.

Osamu stops in the middle of the room, stares at his shaking hands. Three of the knuckles on his right hand are split with the force of the punches. The tremors pick up. He clenches his fingers tightly, ends up making the already formed wounds let out a few droplets of blood.

“Did I seriously piss you off so much that you almost got him concussed?”

Because as much as Rintarou manages to avoid any type of confrontation so that he can stay in the comfortable background, he’s aware of his surroundings. He knows the mood swings are partially his fault, for however he insulted Osamu.

“I mean, if I hadn’t eaten breakfast I woulda taken them, but I don't eat when I’m already full.”

As if pulled by a string, Osamu straightens. “What?”

“You shoved the Chocorooms in my face right after mom made me eat my weight in eggs and toast. Of course I’m gonna decline them.”

Rintarou sighs, doesn’t even cover his agitation, nor how done he is with the entire fiasco.

All this shit and for what? Rintarou really can’t understand him sometimes - actions and thought process alike. Give him any middle blocker or spiker to dissect and break, but Miya Osamu? Almost impossible to get through.

“You weren’t turning me down?”

Rintarou blinks, shakes his head to clear the ruins from the tsunami in the form of thousands of buzzing whispers in his mind. This time it’s his turn to be confused, “What?”

“When you gave them back. I thought it meant no.”

If Rintarou has enough energy to spare, which he doesn’t because blackmail material doesn’t just come and find him, he’d make an honest to all the deities ‘Miya dictionary’ just so he could hurl it at the twins’ heads from the fourth floor.

“Yes.” he raises both brows. “As in, ‘no, I’m not hungry, I don’t want food’. What, you wanted me to eat it and watch the choo-choo train come back up?”

An open look crosses Osamu, one that appears during a startling turn of events that are in Inarizaki’s favor, when he gets his favourite pudding before Atsumu’s grubby little hands can reach it first, when his favourite bakery makes new delicious goods.

He’s fucking _ sparkling _ . All _ kirakira, chirachira _ and every other onomatopoeia representing the shoujo manga glitter that surrounds Osamu like a thick fog.

“Okay, you know what?” Rintarou marches over to the first aid kit, takes the antiseptic and some bandages. “Deal with it yourself. I don’t have the capacity to even begin to understand what’s going on in your thick head right now. Bye.” he shoves them at Osamu.

But Osamu doesn’t catch them in time and the bandages and plastic bottle skitter away, one stops near the lockers, the other at the door. Rintarou looks at the wall.

“Ugh.”

Osamu snorts and Rintarou can hear the mirth in his voice, knows there’ll be tiny crinkles at the edges of his eyes.

“You twins are more like five year olds than actual five year olds are.”

*****

Osamu takes Yumi’s vacated seat in front of Rintarou’s desk while Rintarou’s rummaging through the blackmail folder he’s reserved for Atsumu. “Wanna go to the bakery after class ends?”

Rintarou continues scrolling albeit having stopped seeing what’s on the screen. Due to recent events that occurred a little over a month ago, he constantly overthinks about the layers Osamu puts under his food related questions that involve Rintarou trying something. It’s like he’s taking underlying meaning of Japanese to a whole new level.

“I mean, only if you’re hungry.”

Rintarou nods at this, the exit he’s being given.

He’s started understanding the complex webs that make Osamu. It’s actually kind of idiotic that he hadn’t connected the dots earlier. He could have saved everybody the headache, Osamu the three prominent scars covering the knuckles of his right hand and Atsumu the gruesome bruises.

Declining food in _ Osamu-ben _ is the equivalent of telling him ‘fuck you’ or to go throw himself outta the window. If he wants to avoid that, he has to give at least a small explanation as to why exactly he can’t eat the offered food. It’s like he’s interacting with a Neanderthal.

But then there are times when Osamu picks the perfect moment to offer a very hungry Rintarou, who’s skipped both breakfast and lunch, the divine blueberry muffin from the old bakery that’s near the Miya household. Or his mother’s homemade curry and meat buns.

Rintarou’s brought out of his thoughts when Osamu snaps his fingers in front of his face. His elbows are braced on Rintarou’s desk, making his broad shoulders stand out.

Wait, what?

What broad shoulders?

There’s no such thing.

He should stop going to bed at 1 a.m. when he has to get up at 6. This is ridiculous.

“You getting sick again?”

Rintarou shudders as his own shoulders rise up to his ears against his own volition. “Anathema. Don’t jinx me.”

Class starts a few minutes later and seems to breeze by them. In the twenty minutes before afternoon practice, Osamu drags him to the bakery and buys him two golden meat buns that have the most satisfying crust and the perfect amount of spices. He slaps Rintarou’s hand away when he reaches for his own wallet, the bastard.

Rintarou supposes he still feels guilty for the misunderstanding, not that he has to make up for it, as Rintarou had told him all the times Osamu offered food.

This time he follows the line of logic.

Food = life, so if he buys Rintarou food that is free of charge, he’s basically making the ultimate gift. Or, at least, in _ Osamu-ben _he is.

Seeing as he’s hungry, it’s free and extremely delicious, Rintarou has no objections. That is until he can’t ignore certain developing feelings anymore with how much exposure he’s been under.

Observing a smiling and laughing Osamu that is eons away from the facade he wears during school hours is the last kick needed to topple Rintarou’s already crumbled walls. In class, he can’t stop his eyes from straying to the left, to watch Osamu’s profile that is illuminated by the sun, as it turns his hair a warm chocolate color, the same as his eyes.

He’s stopped counting all the times he’s stared at his mouth, at the perfect cupid’s bow and how equally plump his lips are. Once, Rintarou ran away from the shared lunch with him, Atsumu and Gin, to hide the rapid appearance of crimson on his face, because he hadn’t been able to stop paying attention to Osamu’s mouth.

With all the unnatural worrying and anxiety that follows him everywhere, he manages to get himself sick again, only this time he doesn’t drag his ass to school only to get sent back again. Surprise, surprise, Osamu knocks on his door in the late afternoon, just as he manages to succumb to sleep.

He’s not very happy to be awoken, so the first thing that he spits out when he hurls the door open is a venomous, “What?”

With his eyes narrowed more than usual, he needs a second to recognize Osamu.

“Oh. Sorry.”

Osamu’s ears appear to be red but as his face gives nothing away, Rintarou doesn’t pay any mind. He steps aside to let him in.

“I was gonna come by earlier but ‘Tsumu managed to slip and hit his already damaged head.”

“Let me guess, while he was looking at Kita-san’s ass?”

Osamu makes a grimace that speaks to Rintarou on a spiritual level.

“Wait, what’s that? I don’t know if I have enough to pay you back for all of it.”

Osamu’s carrying a large bag of groceries. A carton of eggs, fresh green onions, bones of some kind, beef, potatoes, bell peppers and after that Rintarou just moves his head away.

“Don’t sweat it. Go back to bed or I’ll call Kita-san to terrorize you.”

At the mention of their captain Rintarou quickly deflates and carries himself back to his room. Osamu can do as he pleases as long as he’s quiet.

He travels back and forth between unconsciousness and full cognitivity, the barely audible clatter from the kitchen a pleasant reminder that he isn’t alone, rather than being annoying.

The next moment he wakes up with Osamu crouched next to his bed.

“There’s tea, it has antiseptic properties, should help with the throat. Soup’s almost ready, the broth needs at least one more hour.”

It takes Rintarou some time before he realizes that yes, Osamu did in fact cook for him. “But… why?”

With Osamu’s back to the light and the blinds pulled closed, Rintarou has no visual to his face. A hand reaches towards him, pats his head awkwardly before Osamu leaves quickly. He catches a murmur of ‘shit, shit, shit’ before the door can close.

The aroma of the tea fills his bedroom, sets like a warm blanket over him. He manages to get up on one elbow and have a few sips. Thyme and white tea with lemon and honey. Something balmy and sizzling sets under his chest cavity. He pretends it’s the tea.

~

Osamu wakes him up sometime later and again, Rintarou can’t distinguish the features of his face.

“C’mon, you gotta eat.” he gives Rintarou his hands, helps him stand on his feet. “Spicy’s probably not good for your throat right now, but there’s pepper and garlic in there to kill some bacteria.”

He helps Rintarou sit at the table. It’s so foreign. Good thing his parents will be late tonight, he doesn’t need them leering at him when Osamu isn’t looking. After all, they’ve had double the years to become pro blackmailers. He’s learned from the best.

He waits until Osamu seats opposite of him to start.

“_Itadakimasu_.” he whispers with a hoarse voice, his throat on fire just from swallowing.

He has no idea how long he’s been sleeping but Osamu has somehow managed to whip up a ginormous pot of beef soup, a side of rice and a thick stock that’s been made from boiling bones, herbs, spices and vegetables for at least three hours, if not more. Actually, most definitely more.

Rintarou stops mid taking the first bite. It triggers an immediate frown forming between Osamu’s brows.

“How long have you been cooking?”

Osamu shrugs. “Dunno. Not that long.”

Rintarou’s brain finally graces him with the idea to see the time and-- “It’s 9. Five hours isn’t long? There’s school tomorrow.”

“It’s Saturday. We only have practice.” Osamu points his chopsticks at Rintarou. “Eat.”

Rintarou does so, because the scorching feeling spreads everywhere in his abdomen and his brain is making up false scenarios.

The first thing he tries is the beef soup. The balanced mix of flavors that hit him simultaneously make him freeze up. He knows this taste.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve made this soup for me, have you?” Osamu’s already watching him while he munches on his rice. “Last time too?” he nods back without uttering a word. “Why can’t I remember?”

“You were barely conscious, the fever hit you bad. I didn’t really expect you to remember.”

Those traitorous parents of his have known the entire time. No wonder all the questions regarding his team started.

Rintarou wishes he has something to hide behind. “Sorry.”

A few bites later, while he’s blowing the steam off the meat, Osamu says, “I don’t mind.”

_Oh._

Oh fuckity fuck.

The food mentality back at it again. He can’t control his poker face, much less have deep thoughts regarding the connotation behind those words and how they fit in the ‘food = life’ equation.

“You wasted five hours of your life stuck in a kitchen that’s not even yours. Alone, might I add. And you’ll get sick again.”

“I said I don’t mind.”

Rintarou gives up fighting him on it, instead focuses on his food. For the first time in a very long while he manages to eat everything in front of him plus a second helping of the stock. He’s going to burst.

As he lowers his bowl, he hears a click that is all too familiar.

“Did you just take a photo of me?”

Osamu observes his phone, taps on the screen a few times before clicking the button on the side to lock it. “To give you a taste of your own medicine.” is his reply, but his features are too soft for him to be doing it out of malice.

Rintarou chalks it up to him being plain ‘ol Neanderthal Osamu.

******

When Atsumu bets Rintarou he can’t win the pocky challenge against Osamu, he doesn’t see why he shouldn’t prove him wrong until the moment they’ve started it. The outcome is inevitable. Osamu isn’t going to give up the pocky and Rintarou has a point to prove.

So, in retrospect he does have a few seconds to ready himself. What he doesn’t take into account is that the moment they kiss, they’ll be staring into each other’s eyes. The contact lasts for maybe two seconds and yet Rintarou can’t fail but notice the slight dilation of Osamu’s pupils.

After lunch break that’s all he can think about.

Of course his pupils will dilate. He’s a high school guy with raging hormones. They both are. It’s purely a biological reaction.

Then, when they’re the last in the locker room Osamu is still eating the pocky. He notices Rintarou’s evident gaze fast enough to catch him in the act. A playful flame sparks in his eyes and he glances at the door before his eyelids drop further.

“What, you want a rematch?”

Rintarou should say no and go to practice before Kita-san comes to intimidate them with his glare alone.

Instead he digs his grave, “Sure.”

He straddles the bench in the middle of the room, Osamu follows his example, only now he’s lost the Atsumu-like cockyness. As if he hadn’t expected Rintarou to agree.

Rintarou ignores the somersault his heart does as he leans in to bite the opposite side of the pocky. And they begin chewing. It flies by as a second when they hold eye contact and there it is again, the pupil dilation that’s been screwing with his mind the whole day.

Just as they reach the middle of the pocky, Osamu’s hand sneaks into his hair a millisecond before they kiss. Rintarou barely manages to swallow the remaining pocky in his mouth, almost chokes, because--

Osamu pulls away, pupils having swallowed two thirds of his iris. He glances down and back up, his hard swallow audible in the silence around them.

He feels it more than he hears it when he whispers, “Suna?”

The vibration travels to his lips, sends a shiver he can’t fight through his every limb.

Rintarou has to know, if, “Is this just the game or--”

“No. It was never about the game.”

This time it’s Rintarou who leans in to connect them. It’s sweet and sticky from the pocky, the wet smack from their lips is loud in his ears. Osamu’s other hand grasps his hip to pull him closer, then travels up Rintarou’s spine, traces each vertebrae. It makes Rintarou squirm as the nerves make mini supernovas explode on his skin.

Osamu bites his lower lip, sucks it into his mouth to swipe a broad tongue against it. Rintarou can’t stop the small noise he makes in his throat.

“Did you finally get it?” Osamu asks after he leans away.

“Get what?”

“That I don’t share with just anybody.”

What does sharing have anything to do with--

_ Oh. _

As Rintarou glimpses back on the events, _ Osamu-ben _ starts to look more and more comprehensible with this new, but extremely vital information.

“All the time you’ve been offering me food you were-- flirting with me?”

Osamu looks to the side, ears developing the same crimson shade as when he’d landed on Rintarou’s doorstep with a bag full of groceries.

“‘Tsumu called it ‘maiden courting’.”

“Pffffff, not far off, though.” Rintarou lets out a breathy snicker, suddenly all the heavy baggage on his shoulders nonexistent. “Wait. So that time with the Chocorooms was you asking me out?” he doesn’t even hold in the cackle at the image.

A wild Osamu in his natural habitat, picking his flowers among the Chocoroom isle of the store, trying to remember flower language and see if strawberry flavor will convey his feelings. Then, the brutal refusal of said flowers, the strawberry taste has failed him!

“Is that why you almost concussed Atsumu? Because you thought I turned you down?”

However, now that he knows what events have been happening on the other side of the screen, he realizes how returning the gifted Chocorooms with the casual words he'd said would look from Osamu’s point of view.

“But excuse you, how was I supposed to know that you were trying to-- to court me, when you didn’t even say anything?”

One look at Osamu and the lack of humor sobers him up.

“I’m not making fun of you.”

“Sure doesn’t sound like it.” he makes to get up, Rintarou pulls him down.

“I’m not. But I also can’t read minds.”

Another variation of the ‘bitch face’ emerges. “So I go to the nurse with every teammate and give them the last piece of the cake I make only once a month? Or I buy them the best meat buns in existence? And cook for them too?”

“You made the cake?”

Osamu whacks his shoulder. “That’s what you got from what I said?”

“So are we dating now?”

Osamu opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Then his neck also turns red. But he also leans back to create distance between them with his eyebrows drawn together so tight they might permanently stay that way.

Rintarou’s blood runs cold, an icy shiver trickles like frost down his back.

Just as he’s about to bolt, Osamu seizes his head in those calloused palms and places a kiss on his mouth. Rintarou almost doesn’t catch his words, “I want to”, and he lands another scorching kiss.

He continues kissing Rintarou without stopping until he’s as as limp as a doll, then as he deepens it he feels like the blistering summer is right around the corner.

When Kita-san finds them, their lips have the glossy carmine red color of carnival candy apples.

*****

In _ Osamu-ben _ the most notorious characteristic is the inability to use words to convey simple meanings, thus cause a cacophony of unwanted events to unfold. But in it, actions give the same connotation, if not a bigger one. And most importantly, if you’re given free food, he’s whipped.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are food for my soul!
> 
> *38.5°C = 101.3F
> 
> *side note - 'ben' means dialect in Japanese, like Kansai-ben (Kansai dialect)! So Osamu-ben is something my brain came up with seemingly out of nowhere and I rolled with it lol
> 
> Here's my [Twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/inarizakistan) if anybody wants to gush about Sunaosa/Inarizaki!


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